Polite, Nice, Patient
by theBrillianceofNight
Summary: ...And Other Things Which Sherlock Is Not. In which Sherlock Holmes is courteous, John Watson is amused, Gregory Lestrade is confused, Sally Donovan is horrified, Anderson is angry, and Molly Hooper is cooperative. Collaboration with Quicquidlibet, and we both apologize for the language but not for the randomness.


"Hello John."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __No, at the Yard._

* * *

"Morning, Sherlock."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Pretend it's morning._

* * *

"Thank you for meeting me here on such short notice, especially considering the inclement weather."

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: I CAN TAKE VERBAL CUES._

_Quicquidlibet: __I know, just checking._

* * *

"No, no. Not normal enough. Who says inclement?"

"...Intelligent people. Anyway, I got it off the weather broadcast. Doesn't that count?"

"The weather broadcast does that to make themselves look good. Normal people are too lazy to use that type of vocabulary in everyday conversation."

"What should I say instead? 'Bad', like a four-year-old?"

"It depends. You could swear and say 'bloody', exaggerate a bit and say 'horrible', talk like a teenager and say 'crap', avoid descriptions and just say 'this weather', or talk like a four year old and say 'bad.'"

"John. Normal people don't spend that much time elaborating upon synonyms—"

"...Shut up. You wanted to do this."

"—And yes, I know, elaborating is 'not normal'—"

"I'm just trying to help your bloody experiment. Don't criticize me if you want my help."

"Not to mention that _you_ were the one who gave me the idea—" Sherlock paused. "Lestrade! There you are!"

"Sherlock. John," Lestrade said in greeting.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: ACK, Lestrade isn't as easy to write as John._

* * *

"Morning, Greg. Got another case for us?" John replied.

"Please?" Sherlock cut in. "Ah, and good morning, Anderson, Donovan."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __I'm Donovan, right?_

_theBrillianceofNight:__ Indeed._

* * *

Sally Donovan gave Sherlock an odd look before giving her usual greeting of "Freak."

"It's nice to see you too, ma'am," Sherlock answered pleasantly.

Anderson bypassed Sherlock altogether, unsure of how to respond.

"Er—Hello, John."

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: Ack, does he say John or Dr. Watson?_

_Quicquidlibet: S__hould we have it where John and Sherlock are pretending that Sherlock just decided to be nice or that he's always been like this? Which would screw with them more? Also, does Anderson even have a first name? And it would probably be Dr. Watson. Donovan would be on first name basis but not Anderson._

_theBrillianceofNight: __They should pretend he's always been nice. Uhh... I don't think they ever use Anderson's first name._

_Quicquidlibet: __Wanna make it up or just continue with Anderson?_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Just leave it as Anderson. Even Sally uses it, and she's the one bunkin' with him all the time._

* * *

"Good morning, Sally, Anderson," John greeted. "How were your weekends?"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Does he call her Sally or Donovan? I thought they were on first name basis but I'm not so sure._

_theBrillianceofNight: __Sally, I think._

* * *

Anderson looked askance at Sherlock, preparing himself for the inevitable snarky remark about Sally and he. It never came.

"Yes, did you do anything interesting? I, for one, sat around at the flat, didn't do much," Sherlock remarked instead.

"John, what's wrong with him?" Lestrade demanded more than asked.

John looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"He's acting... Odd. Is this some sort of joke? Did he do something he wasn't supposed to?"

"I'm hurt," Sherlock frowned, sounding as though he really were.

"Do you need to be taken to the hospital, then?" Anderson asked, taking Sherlock's word quite literally.

"No, I'm hurt that he thinks I'm only doing this for some ulterior motive." Sherlock looked away and, for a moment, he looked as though he were about to cry.

"Yeah, probably hit your head. Bet that's why you're acting all strange," Donovan sniped.

John sighed in exasperation. "Why do you all keep saying he's acting strange?" He then paused and muttered under his breath, "Overkill, Sherlock. Too much."

"What was that?" Lestrade asked.

"Nothing, just mumbling about how we've been over this before. Nothing's wrong with Sherlock," John lied.

"Nothing much?" Sherlock cried. "I suppose you're correct—yes, of course you're correct," Sherlock trailed off.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: What was that?_

_theBrillianceofNight: I meant to make him overreact, but that would be too 'overkill' as well._

_Quicquidlibet: Oh._

* * *

Sally stared. "I'm not going to put up with this. I'm going to my office."

Anderson moved to follow her, but Sherlock caught his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Anderson."

"What for? For my failure to ruin Sally's knees this weekend?" Anderson shot back.

"Of course not!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Did you really think me so cold? I really do apologize, sir."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __*gasps in realization* WHAT IF ANDERSON'S NAME IS JUST ANDERSON? NOTHING ELSE?_

_theBrillianceofNight:__ ...PFFFFFT._

* * *

Anderson looked uncomfortably at Sherlock.

_He looks like he's actually sorry for hurting my feelings by his tensed fingers,_ Sherlock observed to himself.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __I misread that as "Sherlock looked uncomfortably at Sherlock."_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Good job._

_Quicquidlibet: __Thanks._

* * *

Anderson wasn't the only one to feel uncomfortable as Sally repeated "What for?" and crossed her arms over her chest.

"For whatever it is that made you feel so bad in the past. For picking at all of your faults and even inventing some, for calling you an idiot and for being altogether a pestilence," Sherlock answered, looking down at his feet.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: Heh, 'pestilence' is a fun word to say._

_Quicquidlibet: __I prefer petulant._

_theBrillianceofNight: __Hmph. Whatever._

_Quicquidlibet: __Oh, of course, act like a petulant child, why don't you?_

* * *

Lestrade gaped and then turned to John, "Thank you. I don't know what you did, but thank you."

"And, er... I forgive you?" Anderson replied, squirming under John's commanding stare.

John struggled to hold back a smirk. "Er, so..." he said, attempting to break the awkwardly tense mood that fallen over the room, "What have you got for us today, Greg?"

"Time is a-tickin'!" Sherlock added.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __...No. Please. I think you momentarily broke my brain. Please. Have mercy._

_theBrillianceofNight: __What'd I do?_

_Quicquidlibet: *__cries* You said "a-tickin'!" For SHERLOCK. Are you trying to KILL me?!_

_theBrillianceofNight: __FINE. I'LL FIX IT._

* * *

"What a strange phrase," he murmured. "I don't quite like it. First and last time I'll ever use it."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __Ohthankgoodness._

_theBrillianceofNight: __THERE. I Eleventh-Doctor'ed it._

_Quicquidlibet: __Thank you. I'm sorry for the fuss. And it's not just Eleven, Ten does that too._

_theBrillianceofNight__: __Just—whatever. BACK TO SHERLOCK. NOW. …Quicquidlibet? OH NO ARE YOU DEAD!?_

_Quicquidlibet: __KEEP YOUR PANTS ON, I'M TYPING IT. How do you do italics?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Are you seriously asking me this question? USE THE ITALICS BUTTON._

_Quicquidlibet: __K, thanks. But seriously. Keep your pants on. We don't need another sheet-covered person wanderin' around. Sherlock is enough._

* * *

Lestrade turned to John once more. "Tell me the truth. What's wrong with him?"

John gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing wrong with him."

"Then why is he acting like this?"

"Like _what?"_ John exclaimed in confusion.

"Like... Like… _this!"_

"He's always like this!"

"Always _been_ like this," Sherlock corrected. "I haven't acted this way for a while."

"Right, right. Forgot."

Sally narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Alright. Let's pretend you're telling the truth. If you're always like this, why did you act like such a... a..." she paused, searching for a word and failing. "Why were you such a rude freak for so long?"

"It—it—it's because—" Sherlock stopped, turning away. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse and he sounded—broken. "J-John, could you please tell them wh-why?"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __I DON'T KNOW WHY!_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Mwahahaha, evil, aren't I?_

_Quicquidlibet: __Um... shall we brainstorm ideas now? They'll need to explain the stuttering and hoarse/broken voice as well._

* * *

"A-are you _crying_?" Anderson exclaimed, watching Sherlock closely.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: THAT is the reason for the hoarse/broken voice. And the reason has to be dramatic. And heart wrenching. I guess._

_Quicquidlibet: __That's what I meant. I knew he was crying, I meant that they had to come up with a reason why._

_theBrillianceofNight: __Oh._

* * *

"Well, yeah, cos that's what people _DO_," Sherlock barked out raggedly.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __Why is he quoting Moriarty? IS MORIARTY THE REASON?!_

_theBrillianceofNight: __...Quicquidlibet. John needs to say something. Like NOW._

_Quicquidlibet: __LIKE WHAT?_

_theBrillianceofNight: __I DUNNO. MAKE SOMETHING UP. I mean, Sherlock is CRYING. John needs to DO something!_

* * *

John glared at Sally and pulled Sherlock into a half hug.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I'd put the reason here but I don't HAVE ONE YET. Seriously, we're writing. The time we take to write this doesn't apply to the fic._

_theBrillianceofNight: Oh. Right. Sorry. Got caught up in the suspense._

* * *

"There. You made him cry. _Happy now?"_

"Er—Sally, why don't we just walk away now." Anderson pulled her gently by the elbow but Sally resisted, wanting to hear Sherlock's answer.

"Well—with Mycroft, see? And our mum wanted—something, and so, that's why—why—_this_!"

And with that, Sherlock lifted up his sleeve to display four nicotine patches.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: Have fun piecing things together._

_Quicquidlibet: __I'll try._

* * *

All of the police officers stared in confusion, not understanding.

John sighed.

"I can explain. Sherlock's mum is rather…_demanding_ in how she wants her children to act," John began. "And she's very much like Mycroft in the sense that she's always monitoring Sherlock. She doesn't like seeing her genius sons interacting normally with 'civilians'," John shrugged.

"Sherlock and Mycroft like pleasing their mum, and so they acted all... like sociopaths, basically, to please her. And they had to act like that everywhere cos she's always watching. But Sherlock is a people person—"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I'm grinning evilly now._

* * *

"—And pushing people away causes him a lot of stress, which is why he turned to drugs and nicotine. It's only recently that I convinced him that this act is damaging him emotionally _and_ physically, because of the drugs."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: SO FLACKIN' WORDY._

_theBrillianceofNight: GOOD JOB!_

* * *

Sherlock turned a watery glance at John and, once he was sure no one could see, he hardened his eyes into a glare that could cut diamonds.

Sally stumbled over her words, "I—I—Oh God. I'm sorry. I—I—I didn't know! And all this time! I—I _insulted_ you when—when—_this!_ Just—"

John stifled a chuckle just as Lestrade asked, "What caused the sudden change, then? Why stop the act now?"

"John's my doctor," Sherlock mumbled into the shoulder of his flatmate's jumper.

"He's not allowed to continue the act when it's so bad for his health," John elaborated. "Doctor's orders. His mum will just have to be disappointed."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I really want to have a MYcroft scene now where he knows about the cover story that John BS-ed his way through._

_theBrillianceofNight: Did you mean to capitalise the "My"?_

_Quicquidlibet: __Oops._

* * *

Sherlock sniffled again.

"Um... I should get to my office now..." Sally said, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of Sherlock crying. "You know... Work to do and all..."

"So, Greg. The case you called us in here for?" John asked once more as the two left, turning to Lestrade.

* * *

_Quiquidlibet: WE NEED A CASE. AND YES, I FORGOT TO USE THE CAPS BUTTON AND HELD DOWN SHIFT THE ENTIRE TIME. ….Night? You there?_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Sorry. Distracted by brother's stoichiometry._

* * *

"You mentioned something about a woman's husband murdered? Poor soul," Sherlock murmured.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: __lol so could i cuz I'm short and small_

_Quicquidlibet: __What?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Looking at old chats. I__ had terrible grammar then. It was... 4/2/11. Damn._

_Quicquidlibet: __So confused._

* * *

"Uh, yeah," Lestrade replied. "He was found hanging from his balcony with his hands tied behind his back in a way that rules out suicide. There's no way he could have gotten his hands tied in that position on his own. Besides that, there were many signs of a struggle, suggesting that he put up a fight before he was hanged."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I'm on a ROLL with this B-S stuff!_

* * *

Sherlock shuddered. "Hanging is such a gruesome way to die. I'd rule it up there with falling—because you know it's coming."

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: OH THE IRONY._

_Quicquidlibet: __Heh._

* * *

John nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Very gruesome. Well..." He paused. "Can we have a look at the body?"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I don't like how that came out. But I don't know how to put it another way._

* * *

"JOHN!" Sherlock reprimanded. "Say 'please'!"

"Sorry, sorry! Can we have a look at the body, please?"

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: This is hard because you've got Lestrade AND John... Foxy Lestrade..._

* * *

Lestrade opened his mouth in question, but then closed it and shook his head. "Right. This way; you know where the morgue is."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: *Chuckle*_

* * *

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Greg."

John and Sherlock walked down the hallway towards the double doors labelled "MORGUE" in a large, standard typeface.

"Weirdest day of my life," Lestrade muttered under his breath as he pushed open the door and led the others to the body.

"Hello, Molly. You look wonderful today, your earrings really compliment your complexion," Sherlock noted as he walked in.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __Do you want to be Molly?_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Sure._

* * *

"O-oh, thank you, Sherlock," Molly answered, physically bracing herself for the heartbreaker that was sure to follow.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: Do we want to keep him smart and observant and make him nicer or just make him "normal"? OG. MY BROTHER DOESN'T KNOW UNITS FOR VOLUME. HOW!?_

_Quicquidlibet: __Still observant, but not as show-off-y about it. …Cos he's in middle school and middle schoolers are dumb?_

* * *

"I see you bought those over the weekend, and you're proud of the bargain, correct? I'm glad," Sherlock smiled.

"So, let's have a look, shall we?" John interjected, indicating the body bag on the table.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I laugh every time John is the rude one._

_theBrillianceofNight: __Wait, how the fuck am I supposed to figure out that something happened!? DARN YOU, QUICQUIDLIBET!_

_Quicquidlibet: *C__ackles* Payback for making me B-S the reason AND part of the case! Also, I find it amusing that you say darn instead of damn, but don't replace fuck._

* * *

Sherlock turned toward the body and considered it closely. "John?"

"Well, cause of death... Well. There's the obvious one of him being hanged, which is what we're meant to think... but that's not all of it," John began. "He would have died anyway; the hanging just sped it up. Sherlock, care to share the full cause?"

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: How the hell am I supposed to figure THIS out? I'm no good at BS-ing things!_

_Quicquidlibet: __It's payback for making me BS the other stuff!_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Gah..._

* * *

Sherlock studied the body for a much longer time than usual. At John's questioning look, he shrugged.

"I still can't understand why someone would _want_ to kill a person," he said mournfully. He continued to observe with a frown. "Well, yes, there's the hanging," he confirmed, then he turned to Lestrade. "May I see the rope?"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: __Wait. What do the police do with what they presume is the cause of death? Do they keep it with evidence or something?_

_theBrillianceofNight: __Yeah, in the evidence lockers, but if they want Sherlock to study it, they'll probably still have it on hand._

_Quicquidlibet: __Ah, okay. Wait. What does "on hand" mean? *apologizes for being a confused idiot*_

_theBrillianceofNight: __They'll probably have it out instead of stuffed away in the archives._

_Quicquidlibet: __...Okay..._

* * *

"Yeah," Lestrade said, giving Sherlock another odd look, but not commenting on his behaviour. "One second, I've got to get it from Anderson. He insisted on taking a look at it."

Sherlock nodded in approval.

"Thank you."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: GAH I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING. HELP._

* * *

John glanced at Molly as Lestrade left the room. "How has your week been, Molly?" he asked pleasantly.

"It's been good," she answered. "And yes, Sherlock, I did buy these as a bargain. Thank you for noticing."

John struggled to hide a devious grin as he noticed Molly's hesitant acceptance of Sherlock's character. _Leave it to her to just go with it, _he thought.

Sherlock smirked. "John, I can see exactly what you're thinking, and as much as I agree, I think it would be to your benefit to close your mouth."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Dude, seriously. Why are we never online at the same time? This is getting ridiculous. Where are you? Also, I don't remember most of this. How long has it been since we last worked on this?_

_Quicquidlibet: Ack, Google Docs confuses me._

_Quicquidlibet: You just texted me saying you have to eat dinner. I'm just going to leave you a little message here because I'm bored:_

_Quicquidlibet: If I had an invisibility cloak, I would follow people around making inappropriate noises and trip people. I'd also kick wiener dogs, like Harry said, except I'm serious. Simba said that if he had an invisibility cloak, he'd play tricks on people. Like, pretend to be a ghost and hide their stuff. Things like that. Also, I think he's secretly a total asshole who's pretending to be nice so I don't get freaked out. Which is silly, since I'm the one who said "oh cool!" at a really inappropriate time, so I don't know why I'd be freaked out._

_Quicquidlibet: I need to stop._

_theBrillianceofNight: The formatting went really weird._

_theBrillianceofNight: And Simba full-out admits that he's a butthole. He's just polite around people he considers to be his friends._

_theBrillianceofNight: I fixed the formatting._

_Quicquidlibet:I know Simba admits to it, I just think that he keeps it secret by never being an asshole to me._

_theBrillianceofNight: Are we going to keep all of this "extra" stuff or get rid of it before we post and stuff? _

_Quicquidlibet: I think it's more amusing to keep it._

_theBrillianceofNight: Also, …I forgot what I was going to say._

* * *

"Ah, perfect, Lestrade. Thank you for bringing the rope," Sherlock greeted as the man entered the room wearing gloves and holding the rope gingerly.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: What is Lestrade's title? Like, as in job title and shtuff?_

_Quicquidlibet: Detective Inspector._

_theBrillianceofNight: Oh. Right._

* * *

"You're welcome?" Lestrade replied, giving Sherlock an odd look. "What can you get from it?"

"The rope is made from hemp," Sherlock noted, giving the cord a quick glance-over as he pulled on a pair of surgical gloves with a snap. He took the bundle from the Detective Inspector to examine it more closely, then he gave it a sniff. "Here, smell it," he offered, holding out the frayed end of the bundle.

John gave the rope a quick sniff, as did Lestrade, both hesitant and unsure as to what scent they were looking for.

"It's got a very earthy scent," Molly said, surprised. "I think I've got a bracelet made of this material, but it's much... smoother?" she hazarded, making a face as she failed to find the correct word.

"Indeed," Sherlock nodded. "They make much thinner and refined cordage for other uses, but rope this thickness typically does not come bundled this neatly. It usually has many loose fibers, which makes this particular rope very interesting."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I don't know what to do or say next. Oh wait. … no. No, I lost it. Oh, I remember!_

* * *

"Would the killer have had it specially made?" John asked, grabbing the rope to feel for himself.

"Good thinking, but unfortunately incorrect. Hemp rope of this weight and texture is sold in stores, but it is less common."

"So... The texture is... _not_ important?" Lestrade interjected, glancing at both John and Molly uncertainly before looking at Sherlock for confirmation.

Sherlock chuckled slightly. "In this case, it is. Smooth textured rope is often sealed by tarring to increase its strength and decrease its habit of breaking from rot. This tarring-protected hemp was used primarily on ships." He held out the bundle once more. "What else do you smell?"

Molly took a tentative sniff. "I smell... salt?"

"Salt water?" John guessed, not taking a sniff. "Going by the fact that you said this type of hemp is used on ships, I'm guessing that's where the salt smell comes from."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock applauded both John and Molly.

Molly hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Hemp... Isn't that another name for certain species in the _Cannabis_ family?"

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Writing with you makes me feel stupid. What's the _Cannabis_ family?_

_Quicquidlibet: Also, bigredbattleship, gotta do laundry._

_theBrillianceofNight: It's probably a good thing that you don't know, because that's the plant family that includes marijuana._

_theBrillianceofNight: If you could insert a comment from Lestrade when you get back, that would be greatly appreciated._

_theBrillianceofNight: Also, don't feel stupid. I just know random details._

_theBrillianceofNight: And if you try to sort my priorities according to my response order- just don't._

_Quicquidlibet: If it's the plant family that includes marijuana, how is it that YOU know it? I'm concerned now._

* * *

"_Cannabis _family?" Lestrade asked, giving Molly a confused look.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Lestrade has now become my outlet for confusion. Thank you, carry on._

_theBrillianceofNight: *snort* Like I said, random details. Plus Drumline and the Wikipedia page._

* * *

"Yes, _Cannabis_. As in the family of the psychoactive drug marijuana," Molly replied.

"Great, and now it's another drug case," John said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: I'm giggling uncontrollably now. God, I get amused over stupid things. It's not even funny._

* * *

"Not quite," Sherlock corrected gently. "Hemp is typically made from species with lower contents of the psychoactive chemical."

"As fascinating as this lecture is, what does it have to do with the case?" Lestrade interjected impatiently.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: *whistles* Ah, how I love doing research about poisonous substances..._

_Quicquidlibet: *chuckles* Ah, how I love not having to be the smarter character. But seriously, where are you going with the whole hemp thing?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Trying to figure that out myself..._

_Quicquidlibet: Alright. I'll be working on Book About Chris in the meantime. Let me know when you figure something out. (Aren't I so helpful?)_

_theBrillianceofNight: I keep finding these scary-looking sites. Looks like I'll be sticking to Wikipedia from now on..._

_theBrillianceofNight: Gotta add in some information from above. Hope you don't mind if I tweak Lestrade's outfit a bit._

_Quicquidlibet: Go ahead?_

_theBrillianceofNight: I hope nightshade's poison can't be inhaled..._

* * *

Molly jumped slightly as Anderson shoved open the door to the morgue and peered inside.

"Careful with that," he warned, gesturing toward the rope with a jerk of his head. "Results came back from the lab, and the thing is soaked with nightshade."

"It seems perfectly dry," Molly said with a confused frown.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Gah, I can't respond without making John or Lestrade unnecessarily rude to Molly._

_Quicquidlibet: I know nothing about nightshade._

_theBrillianceofNight: I expect John would at least be aware of the toxicity- maybe just ignore Molly's comment?_

* * *

"So... The killer wanted us to think the hanging was the cause of death, when it was actually poison?" John asked, glancing over at the cadaver on the table next to them.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: I grow bored of this chain of events. I'll quickly tie it up, then._

* * *

"Correct," Sherlock answered, closing his eyes. "The minor abrasions on the neck of the deceased prove that the _Atropa belladonna _poison entered his bloodstream, but the struggle was not, in fact, an attempt to escape the hanging or the strangulation. The extraneous injuries were caused by thrashing as the poison's hallucinatory symptoms came into effect, and after the deceased had already died, his assailant tightened the noose and arranged the scene to look like a suicide. Now the question is _why_ and _how_ did the rope get around the victim's neck? This will require a more complete investigation in person."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Night? Are you dead?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Oops. Sorry, getting distracted by _Lincoln_. Y'know, the movie?_

_Quicquidlibet: Is it good? And I'm getting distracted by Book About Chris (which I will abbreviate to CP). Should Devin's last name be Lynch or Lytt?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Lynch. And I think we can finish this up without actually resolving the case because my brain is kinda fried right now._

_Quicquidlibet: bigredbattleship._

_theBrillianceofNight: For those of you confused, consider BigRedBattleship. Does it make more sense?_

_theBrillianceofNight: If it doesn't, never mind._

_Quicquidlibet: Stitch is my mom's bitch._

_Quicquidlibet: Do you want to finish it now, or save it for a rainy day?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Honestly, I'm getting rather sick of it, so let's just finish it up. May we continue either with a comment from Lestrade or an interruption by Sally?_

* * *

Lestrade startled as his phone vibrated. Opening up a text message, he read the message and then glanced awkwardly at the others in the room. "Text from Donovan. They just caught the killer."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: *proud grin of a delinquent two-year-old who just managed to behave* Can I has cookie now?_

Sherlock scoffed. "Is she ginger?"

Lestrade read the message again. "I'll ask."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: If I say no, will it extend the fic or can we just be done?_

_theBrillianceofNight: If you say no, it'll tie up the fic much more quickly._

* * *

"No," Lestrade said after his phone buzzed once more. "Brunet male. Blue eyes."

"Wrong, wrong, _wrong_," Sherlock shouted immediately. "Oh, the incompetence of our government-hired officials-" he paused to check his phone. "Yes, Mycroft, _incompetence_. Ginger, female, freckles and a propensity for wearing teal. Good bye and good day!" he declared as he swept out of the morgue.

Molly blinked. "Bye!" she called after the consulting detective.

John chuckled. "He owes me thirty quid now," he told them before he followed Sherlock out.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows before grinning and shaking his head. "I knew he was acting weird for a reason."

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: Technically, ginger means red hair AND green eyes._

_theBrillianceofNight: Oops. Fixed it._

_Quicquidlibet: We done?_

_theBrillianceofNight: I feel as if a final concluding scene between Sherlock and John is in order for a satisfactory end._

_Quicquidlibet: What do you mean?_

_theBrillianceofNight: Or at least I want to get in some last-minute insults to Anderson's intelligence._

_Quicquidlibet: *snort* You would._

_theBrillianceofNight: So... may we proceed?_

_Quicquidlibet: Sure._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes swept out of the Yard with a decidedly dramatic flair as his coat flared out behind him in the crisp breeze.

* * *

_theBrillianceofNight: Are you alive?_

_Quicquidlibet: Sorry, distracted by CP. Also, I honestly don't know what to say._

_theBrillianceofNight: Follow-up on the bet, mayhaps?_

* * *

Scowling, John Watson stormed after him. "You owe me thirty quid, Sherlock. You created this bet; you can't just back out because you lost!" he shouted, causing many bystanders to look at the commotion.

Sherlock snorted. "Of course I can. The intelligence of the entire building complex was threatened by Anderson's excessive remarks."

"That doesn't change the fact that you _owe me thirty quid!"_

"Pockets," Sherlock grunted, waving down a taxi. "_Your_ pockets. Check them."

Checking his pockets, John pulled out a black wallet that was decidedly _not his._ "You stole someone's wallet and put it in my pocket."

Sherlock grinned. "Check the identification card and tell me whose asinine face is featured therein."

John sighed. "You stole Anderson's wallet and put it in my pocket. Sherlock, _you_ were supposed to pay me. That's how a bet works. _Not_ stealing another person's money to pay me back."

At that moment, Anderson came storming out of the building with a purple face. "Freak!" he yelled. "_Where_ is my wallet?"

"Perhaps at dear Sally's house?" Sherlock suggested deadpan.

Rolling his eyes, John handed the wallet back, but not before slipping all the cash from it into his pocket.

* * *

_Quicquidlibet: bigredbattleship._

_Quicquidlibet: back._

* * *

Sherlock gave a knowing smirk before calling Anderson back. He snatched back the wallet, ignoring Anderson's enraged squawk. He took a bundle of bills from his pocket and simply slipped it into the wallet, not paying any mind to the section reserved for the holding of paper money. He gave the wallet back to Anderson gingerly, between two fingers.

"Apologies," he said insincerely, and Anderson stalked away, not bothering to check the contents.

John shook his head, laughing incredulously. "You do realise that I'm not giving you the extra money from his wallet? I'm taking more than just the thirty you owed me."

Sherlock merely slipped into the taxi cab, waiting expectantly for John to join him.

As the good doctor settled down in his seat, Sherlock held up a white plastic card between his fingers. He flicked his wrist to display the front of it with a grin, and revealed a stack of Monopoly money in his other hand.

"You really should have been arrested years ago," John said when it finally dawned on him what Sherlock had done.


End file.
